Page 3 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

I pursed my lips as the man paled. How dare this self-righteous fop, with his fine coat and expertly styled red hair, judge me before he knew a thing about me. His throat bobbed beneath his pristine cravat.

A young man appeared at my elbow, a crooked smile on his face. His simple linen waistcoat contrasted sharply with the other gentleman’s patterned silk. He bowed grandly and offered his arm. “Frank Walcott, carpenter’s mate, at your service, miss.”

It was a ridiculous display, one I would have quickly dismissed if the accusing gentleman hadn’t just tried to pay me off for work I would never aspire to. I turned my back on the insufferable dandy and curtsied briskly to the carpenter’s mate. “Would you take me to Mrs. Peyton, please?”

“Certainly. We Mariannes live to serve,” Mr. Walcott said with too much enthusiasm. I couldn’t quite make out if he was taunting me or genuinely seeking to please. Perhaps a little of both.

I took his arm. “Thank you. It is comforting to know this ship has at least one courteous person aboard.”

“Never you mind Mr. Chaplain.” Mr. Walcott winked.

“Not all of us think ourselves so high above our company.” Though not handsome in the classical sense of the word, his enthusiastic expressions gave him an intriguing air.

Unlike the tall and stylish chaplain, whose mouth opened as if he meant to speak but couldn’t think of what to say.

“I am very sorry, miss,” the chaplain finally said as Mr. Walcott steered me toward the hatchway. “I hadn’t the faintest idea why you were here.”

I halted, my arm yanking out of Mr. Walcott’s grasp as I rounded on the penitent chaplain.

No doubt he was one of those fashionable vicars who thought so highly of himself despite making very little money.

He probably didn’t earn much more than this carpenter’s mate.

Attending university and living under the patronage of the Royal Navy hadn’t taught him to respect his fellow man.

Or woman. “I know very well what you thought I was.” Someone despicable in his eyes.

“Keep your apologies for someone who will accept them.”

Mr. Walcott snickered quietly as I took his arm once again.

I would have joined him if my stomach didn’t feel like it was stuffed with rocks.

What an excellent start to what I’d hoped would be the solution to my difficulties.

I’d clung to that hope, that boarding this ship would make things different, erase the censure of Papa’s shame that had haunted me these six years.

Clearly, it didn’t matter, even if no one here knew about the crime.

How stupid of me to think a change of scene would bring a change of respect.

No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, I’d always come up short.

My spirits sank with each step down the ladder. The deck below, with its short headspace and ominous rows of cannons, only darkened the emptiness mounting inside me.

“The great cabin is just there,” Mr. Walcott said, pointing toward the stern. “She was inside not long ago.”

“Thank you very much.” I twisted the scrap of newsprint. Voices filtered from the cabin, but I couldn’t make out words. My new employers, if everything turned out.

“If things go poorly in there, you’re always welcome on the mess deck.”

I grimaced in an attempt to smile at him, then walked quickly toward the doors, my mind not functioning enough to decipher if he meant something improper. One of the doors was ajar, light spilling through.

“I finally convinced them to give me a pair of long nines,” a male voice said. “We can’t very well give chase without guns at the bow.”

“We’d be the laughingstock of the service,” a wry female voice said.

I put my eye up to the opening. A dark-haired woman sat with her back to me, facing a tall man standing by the windows. His fine wool coat with gold buttons and his windswept hair made him the image of a noble captain.

“Are you mocking me?” he asked through a grin.

She shook her head coyly. “Your passion commends you, Captain.”

“You would—”

I knocked quickly on the door. Eavesdropping on them before I’d even secured the job. I pulled off my gloves, suddenly too warm, then removed my bonnet.

“Enter,” the captain said.

Poise. Serenity. Confidence. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Begging your pardon.” I curtsied. “I’ve come to answer Mrs. Peyton’s advertisement.”

The woman had turned to regard me. My eyes widened. The girl looked no older than I was. She was the captain’s wife? Skinny as a hairpin, she chewed the corner of her lip like a girl unsure how to act at her first assembly. This was to be my employer?

“Advertisement? I thought you didn’t want to bring a lady’s maid,” Captain Peyton said.

She must not have had any others answer yet. The captain would have found this out earlier. I held tightly to my gloves. That bolstered my chances. As did her age. I might have better luck convincing a younger woman.

Mrs. Peyton rose swiftly and leveled her chin. “Your mother convinced me otherwise. She insisted a woman needed a companion with all these men.”

“You know I support it. I’m simply surprised you changed your mind.” He watched her carefully. “I shall leave you to your interview, then. I wanted to track down Doswell.”

I almost envied this Doswell as I watched the attractive captain squeeze his wife’s hand before quitting the cabin. What a shame he was already married. But then, I wouldn’t be here if he weren’t, and it wasn’t as though I were in a position to catch his eye.

“What is your name?” Mrs. Peyton asked.

“Margaret Byam, ma’am.” I curtsied again. An abundance of propriety would help my cause.

“Won’t you sit, Miss Byam?” She gestured to a chair across the table from her.

I hurried to the indicated seat. The table took up the center of the room. Behind me, a large cot hung from beams, its curtains drawn. Only one cot, large enough for two. That was odd for members of the gentry.

I sat primly, settling my bonnet and gloves in my lap. I felt the curls surrounding my face to make certain nothing had fallen out of place or been smashed by my hat. She needed to see that I could make someone look presentable.

“Do you have family in the navy?” She spoke softly, with a calculating gaze.

“Yes, one brother.” Lazy, negligent Lewis.

Her brows pulled together, and my stomach dropped. What if she knew of him? I didn’t know how he acted at sea, but if it were at all similar to how he acted on land, he could not have a good reputation. I should not have claimed him.

“My uncle was boatswain of HMS Deborah , and my cousin was his mate. Both died at sea last year.” The words came out so calmly, untouched by the vortex of grief lurking in the recesses of my heart. The fact that I could say it with so little emotion both surprised and hurt.

Mrs. Peyton’s expression softened. “I see.” She looked away. “Have you been a lady’s maid before?”

I cleared my throat. “No, ma’am. But I was a companion to Admiral Richardson’s widow for several years and helped when she didn’t have an abigail for a time.”

“I was sorry to hear she recently died.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Death had been my constant companion the last year.

She rose and paced toward a small desk that sat below the windows. She picked up a paper, then set it down and lifted another. Her simple cotton dress fluttered in a breeze off the harbor. She didn’t dress as elegantly as other captains’ wives I’d seen, even for the daytime.

I surveyed the room while she collected her thoughts. The cabin wasn’t grand, by any means, much smaller than many of the great cabins of ships my uncle had worked on, but it was tidy and homey. I could see myself working here, even if it had fewer books and comforts than Mrs. Richardson’s parlor.

“Have you had much experience with children?” She set down the papers.

I blinked. What did children have to do with this? She hadn’t mentioned any children in her advertisement.

“We have several children aboard.” She wrung her hands. “I was hoping for someone who might help with them.”

She meant ship’s boys. Older children. They couldn’t be more difficult than the little ones I’d tended to. “Yes, I helped my sister frequently with her children before my employment.” Until Agnes and her family had moved to London.

Mrs. Peyton’s rigid posture relaxed. “How old were your nieces and nephews?”

Visions of little feet sprinting down the hall to a chorus of laughter pricked at my sentiments.

It had been two years since I’d seen them last. They all must have grown so much.

“At the time, the oldest was five years old. Then four and two, and the twins had just been born.” And my sister had just written to announce yet another little one on the way.

“Good heavens,” she whispered.

I laughed. “They are clearly a happy couple.”

At that, Mrs. Peyton’s face reddened. I winced. She must be a young bride, uncomfortable talking about such things. What was I thinking, bringing that up to someone I hoped would hire me?

She cleared her throat. “We will be gone quite some time, I understand.” Changing the subject.

I wanted to kick myself. Causing her discomfort would do me no favors.

“Your service would be required for many months, and it could be difficult to find you return passage to England. Our orders are not certain.”

“I understand.” We never knew where Charlie, my uncle, or Lewis would end up when they left. I’d assumed the same for this voyage.

“Navy life is not for the faint of heart,” she said.